


To His Advantage

by marguerite_26



Series: The Thigh Holster Hottie [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Canon Compliant, Loyalty, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Seduction, Sexual Coercion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:19:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marguerite_26/pseuds/marguerite_26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles first noticed it in the hospital the night Lydia had been attacked. Chris had stepped a little too close, held Stiles against the wall a little too long. He was a cop’s kid; he’d been made hyper-aware of the signs leading to bad touch since he was old enough to learn about stranger danger.</p><p>He'd just never thought he'd be able to use it to his advantage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To His Advantage

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Prompt: 101 at the Teen Wolf Rare Pair fest on LJ. Hope you like it, dear prompter!
> 
> Canon compliant; takes place post S2
> 
> Thanks to **melusinahp** , **faithwood** and **eleadore** for beta reading.

Stiles first noticed it in the hospital the night Lydia had been attacked. Chris had stepped a little too close, held Stiles against the wall a little too long. He was a cop’s kid; he’d been made hyper-aware of the signs leading to bad touch since he was old enough to learn about stranger danger.

Then there was the time Stiles had been left shirtless and bruised, tied to a tree by some rogue hunters who were not impressed with teenagers interfering with their traps. When Chris had found him, Stiles had wondered for a minute if he was about to be rescued or devoured. He’d shivered under the ice-blue stare and mouthed off to hide the burning of his cheeks.

Nothing ever happened, of course. It was clear that Chris -- whatever mild interest he might have in Stiles -- wasn’t tempted enough to forget the reality of their situation. Stiles was the Sheriff’s underage son and Chris was the father of one of Stiles’ closest friends.

It was flattering. Stiles couldn’t deny that. Mildly creepy, but flattering. Chris Argent was hot and totally bad ass. The thigh holster he wore might have featured in a fantasy or two when Stiles was looking for some fresh wank material.

Knowing that Chris had a weakness for Stiles was a bit of a power trip, he’d admit. If Stiles liked to get all up in Chris’ face now and then, it only seemed fair. It was his only advantage over this ridiculously attractive older man with all the guns and strategy and years of experience kicking serious ass.

So Stiles played with fire. But only a little because the thing was, Chris was also an asshole.

A seriously dangerous asshole.

* * *

One Friday afternoon in mid-November Allison and Scott got back together and everything went to shit.

* * *

Chris smoldered when he was furious. Stiles hated to admit that, given that Chris currently had a gun pointed to Scott’s head. But it was true. Even with him spitting out death threats, the man was sex on a stick.

Stiles kept that opinion to himself. He also kept his voice level and calm as he talked Chris down from homicide, citing witnesses and making promises that he knew Scott wouldn’t keep.

The problem didn’t go away because everyone just dug their heels in.

A week later, Stiles answered his front door to find Allison in tears on his porch.

Her voice hitched over a sob. “I needed to get out of there.”

Stiles made tea, because that was what his mom used to do anytime someone cried. Neither of them drank it.

“Scott was over last night. We thought we were safe because Dad was out and Scott would hear him in time to leave. We used to do that. Before.” Allison curled up on the couch, wrapping herself in the quilt they kept by the fireplace. She didn’t meet Stiles’ eyes. “I didn’t know he had cameras installed all over the house.”

“Oh, God.”

“He showed me the tape of us -- of us fucking on the dining room table.” She barked a laugh and wiped her cheeks dry. “He’s got every room covered. Every one except the windowless bathroom near my bedroom. I get changed in there every day now.”

“Jesus.”

“And there’s some way he’s monitoring Scott’s house, too. At least all the exits. I don’t even know how.”

“All right. All right.” Stiles took a deep breath, trying to wrap his head around it all. “Shit. I don’t know. Can you talk to him? I mean he loves you.”

“He’s not listening.”

* * *

Stiles wasn’t surprised in the least when Scott showed up a few hours after Allison left.

“Chris was sitting in the driveway the whole time she was here.”

Stiles smacked his forehead, regretting how it made his headache worse. “Of course he was.” 

“It’s getting crazy, Stiles. He’s out every night circling my house, patrolling the woods. He’s even harassing Isaac now. He bumped into him and Derek at the gas station and told them that me dating Allison breaks the truce.”

“Fuck.”

“Right?” Scott flopped down on Stiles’ bed, his hands over his face. “He told them to watch their step. Then he popped his trunk and it was full of bear traps.”

 _Bear traps._ He could only imagine that the Preserve was full of them by now. He wondered if he should warn his dad. “So what are you going to do, man?”

Scott shrugged. “Derek’s already talked to me. He thinks I’m being stupid, risking everyone for my dick.”

“Derek’s an asshole.”

“Yeah. That’s what Allison said her dad was trying to do. Divide and conquer. He wants us all to fight and hate each other because of this. The pressure will make us break up.” 

“So we do the opposite. We stand together.”

“Until one of us loses a foot in a bear trap,” Scott said, hopping off the bed and starting to pace. “Maybe we should consider...”

“No.” Stiles stood in front of Scott so he could grab his shoulders. “Fuck that noise. Just... be careful. We’ll think of something.”

* * *

A few weeks passed before they discovered the bear traps weren’t an idle threat. Stiles was in the back room of the animal clinic, chatting with Scott, when Isaac stumbled in. Scott was across the room before Stiles even registered the door opening.

“Shit,” Scott whispered as he cradled the dripping mess of blood and dangling flesh that was Isaac’s hand.

“Fucker changes the position of the traps every couple days,” Isaac said, hissing as Scott dragged him further into the examination room. “I was half-asleep, not thinking. I tripped one off, but lost my balance. I threw my hand down to avoid falling face first into another one.”

Stiles watched the guilt and regret etch into Scott’s expression.

“We can’t keep...” Scott didn’t even look pissed anymore, just resigned. “Someone is going to get killed.”

Isaac cried out as Scott poured peroxide on his hand.

“Sorry,” Scott said, reaching for the gauze to start wrapping the mutilated hand.

“So much for the fucking _code_ ,” Stiles snapped, not knowing where to look because Isaac’s blood-covered shirt wasn’t pretty. It was like all Scott’s anger had floated across the room and taken up residence in Stiles. “Does anyone even follow that shit?”

“Allison says he’s not going to stop because even if someone gets killed, he’s got the moral high ground that he gave us a choice.”

Moral high ground. Stiles snorted. Chris didn’t have a leg to stand on there, not with the way he looked at Stiles sometimes.

Stiles froze for a second, the idea slamming into him like a physical entity.

* * *

Stiles wiped his palms on his jeans before ringing the doorbell.

His eyes flickered back to his Jeep. He should just turn the fuck around and walk away before it was too late. The door swung open.

Chris looked gorgeous tonight, if a bit glassy-eyed. Stiles recognized that look and the smell of whiskey from the months after his mom had died. If Chris was feeling vulnerable and his judgement was impaired, it would make things a lot easier. He shook off the pang of guilt; conscience and doubt had no place in his mind tonight.

“Mr. Argent.” He waved, donning his most disarmingly goofy smile. “Hi.”

“Mr. Stilinski.” Chris’ eyes flickered down to his lips then back up. “Allison’s not here.”

Stiles stepped in even though Chris was mostly blocking the entrance. “What? Aw, man!” He flailed a bit to deflect from how obviously he was putting himself into Chris’ space. “We have an algebra test tomorrow! We were supposed to study together.”

“She's at Lydia’s.”

“Lydia’s!” Stiles swung his hands out some more, grateful that he had a reputation for ridiculousness. “We agreed to meet here! Are you sure she didn’t say she’d be right back?”

“She said she’d be out all evening.” Chris smirked, crossing his hands over his chest. His shirt was unbuttoned obscenely low and it gaped with the pull. “Maybe she’s avoiding you. I don't know. I’d ask her, but she’s not _here_.”

Stiles smiled, stepping closer and softening his voice. “You’re a funny guy, Mr. Argent.” He batted his eyelashes in what had to be the lamest attempt at flirting in the history of the sport.

Chris just snorted. At least he was amused and not pulling out a gun. “Good bye, Stiles,” he said, and suddenly Stiles was being ushered towards the still open door.

“All right. I’ll just give her a call. Maybe we just changed the location?” He grabbed his phone from his pocket and swiped it quickly while he still had one foot in the Argent’s foyer. “Fuck.” He held the phone out to Chris. “Battery’s dead.”

Chris rolled his eyes but again did not pull out any guns, so Stiles figured he was still winning this round.

“Can I use your phone?” He wriggled out of Chris’ hold to sneak back into the foyer. “It’ll save me the humiliation of driving across town only to be told my study date dumped me for a prettier girl.”

Chris huffed but swept his arm out to allow Stiles further into the house.

Stiles inhaled, taking his first big chance of the night. He headed towards the open door to the office just off the foyer rather than going to the kitchen.

He could feel Chris’ eyes burning at the back of his neck, but he wasn’t stopped. Chris was directly behind him as he reached the door. There was a full glass of whiskey and a half-empty crystal decanter on the desk -- he supposed Chris was too classy to pour right from a bottle of Jack like his dad did.

The desk was strewn with papers and maps.

“You won’t find out anything to help your friends, Stiles.” Chris’ hand landed on his shoulder, stopping him from stepping closer to the maps. “I move the traps constantly. Even if you figured out my code in the thirty seconds I’ll be letting you look at those notes, they’ll be someplace new the next day.”

“I’m not--” Stiles laughed, not having to fake his panic in the slightest. “You think I’m here for that?”

Chris smirked. “I can’t think of any other reason you’d come in here rather than use the much more public phone in the kitchen.”

“Sir, I--” And that’s when he saw it, the flash of heat, and he rearranged his approach in an instant. He’d been going about this all wrong. Chris was already convinced he’d seen through Stiles’ plans. He just needed to work with Chris’ assumption that he’d already outsmarted Stiles.

He played a bit at staring at the maps, quick flicks of his eyes like he was desperate for the information and couldn't help himself being obvious.

It worked. Chris grabbed him by the collar, dragging him away from the desk. He slammed him against the wall. It was nearly the exact position Chris had him in the hospital and he wondered if it was a coincidence or if Chris fantasized about him like this so much it was a subconscious choice to repeat the move.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whimpered, hoping Chris liked the sound of it. “Sir, I’m sorry. Please.”

“Where is that smart ass mouth now, Stiles?” The smell of whiskey burned Stiles’ nose as Chris leaned closer. “I didn’t take you for the begging sort.”

“Right circumstances and all that.” His voice cracked. He didn’t have to fake his blush; his body lit up as Chris’ fingers tightened around his neck.

“My issue isn’t with you, Stiles,” Chris said, lip curling. “Stay out of it.”

“Can’t.”

“You’re loyal. I’ll give you that.”

“I don’t...” He bit his lip, nervous about the next words and not for the reason Chris would think. “I don’t want us to be on opposite sides.”

Chris’ face softened a bit. He blinked slowly, as though trying to filter the meaning through the haze of a few too many glasses.

Stiles wasn’t sure exactly what to do next, but he followed his instincts and hoped it came across both sincere and seductive. He let his eyes fall shut, mouth open a little. Chris’ body was crowding him up against the wall, riding the edge of sexual and aggressive. Stiles focused on that, moaning a soft “sir, please,” as he jerked his hips enough to make contact with Chris’ thigh.

“What are you--” Chris dropped him and stepped away, his cheeks ruddy as his eyes searched Stiles’ face.

“Sorry.” With nothing holding him any longer, Stiles scrambled against the wall to keep upright. “I just--” _Fuck it._ He pushed off, let himself stumble gracelessly forward and the momentum carried him straight into Chris. Gut twisting, he surged up and slammed a kiss to the side of Chris’ mouth.

It was mortifying how much he wasn’t faking it. Like at all. He was hard as rock, pressing against Chris’ thigh, waiting to be pushed away.

Chris froze.

Stiles stared at him, even though they were close enough to force his eyes to cross. He thought for a second he was staring down his own death. Before he scrounged up enough self-preservation to move away, Chris’ hand found his hair and the lips beneath his own were moving. Their heads angled to make everything fit a little better. Chris kissed him back.

Stiles hummed his encouragement, playing the part of the horny teenager so easily.

“Wanted you for ages,” he said between kisses. His fingers twisted in Chris’ shirt, pulling him closer, removing any space between them. Chris was as lost as Stiles given the hard on currently riding Stiles’ thigh. Stiles had known Chris wanted him. Sort of. But he hadn’t known for sure he wouldn’t be rejected anyway.

“This is a terrible idea,” Chris said. But he didn’t push Stiles away, instead his hand slipped down, squeezing Stiles’ ass until they both groaned.

“Yeah.” Stiles tried to keep his head on straight while dizzy with want. There existed a person in the world who found him attractive -- attractive enough to get fucking _hard_ from just kissing him. Wasn’t that all he’d wanted since he’d figured out how his dick worked? He allowed himself a second or two to regret that his first time was going down like this. Such was his fucking life.

Stiles dropped to his knees, wincing at the smack of hardwood and the slice of pain traveling up his thigh. He was shit at this, apparently.

He looked up as Chris tapped his chin, and he gave what he hoped was a sexy, eager grin. He reached for Chris’ zipper and wasn’t stopped.

His first blow job, he thought, pulling Chris’ cock free from his boxers. He’d watched porn -- so much porn -- since entering puberty that he had so many ideas of how this should happen. He only hoped that all those warnings that porn did not accurately represent real sex were completely false because if so he was flying completely blind here.

He understood the basics, and kept an ear out for the cues in Chris’ reactions. Chris wasn’t exactly vocal, but his breath hitched when Stiles licked the tip, his fingers tightened on Stiles’ shoulders as Stiles opened wide and let Chris’ cock slip deeper into his mouth.

Stiles focused on breathing, keeping a steady rhythm and constant suction so it went as quickly as possible. His jaw was sore and apparently his gag reflex was fully operational, but Chris had his eyes squeezed shut and was making these high pitched, pleased noises that made Stiles keep going.

He tried to ignore the ache in his pants, the way his cock pressed awkwardly in his jeans. He squeezed himself, trying to relieve the pressure. Chris’ face was contorted, his arms reaching for the wall above Stiles’ head to keep himself steady as his hips jerked forward, fucking Stiles’ face. Jesus, it was hot. Only a few squeezes later and Stiles trembled, creaming his pants. Stiles’ eyes watered. He tried to breathe and not pull off as he rode out his orgasm.

“Fuck.” Chris cried out, his hands flying to Stiles' head, holding him in place as his body began to shudder.

Stiles choked, shocked at the pulse of bitter come filling his mouth. Panicked for breath, he struggled out of Chris’ hold and spit his mouthful onto the floor.

“Sorry,” Chris whispered, sheepish. He was red, sweaty. Drained from his orgasm, he looked so vulnerable. Old.

Stiles coughed a little and spit again. Come felt weird on his tongue.

He stood and wiped his mouth, already edging towards the door. He didn’t want to give Chris time to recover. He was almost positive that Chris wasn’t going to hurt him, but he’d been over-confident around an Argent before. His hand gripped the can of mace in his jacket pocket, just in case things didn't go as planned.

“Word of advice, Mr. Argent.” Stiles cursed how raw his voice sounded. A brutal reminder of what he’d just done. There was nothing for it now, though; he’d come too far to feel any guilt.

Frowning, Chris looked up at him. Stiles could see Chris’ face hardening as he took in Stiles’ composure.

“You shouldn’t hook up your cameras through the same Wi-Fi your daughter has the password to.” Stiles kept his tone flat. He had no interest in bragging or taunting. He paused long enough for the words to sink in, and he caught the moment true fear entered Chris’ eyes. “You see, she might help someone hook up a device to copy the recordings as they’re happening.”

Chris swayed, his hand pressed against the wall for support as he slid to the floor, narrowly missing the puddle of come Stiles had spit out.

“My dad’s the Sheriff, and in case you need reminding, I’m underage.”

The broken, devastated look on Chris’ face said he hadn’t needed that reminder.

“I’ll just keep that vid safe, all right? Safe as Scott. Safe as Derek and Isaac. So Allison and Scott can have their epic romance and you don’t go to jail.” His chest was burning, anger and adrenaline sending his heart pounding. “No one needs to know what happened here tonight.”

Chris watched him from his spot on the floor. His eyes were red, but his cheeks were dry and pale. “Well played, Mr. Stilinski.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Stiles had nothing to be proud of, but he nodded anyway.

Chris’ head was in his hands and his elbows on his knees. His voice filled with self-hate as he spoke. “You’re willing to do quite a lot for your friends.”

Stiles shifted uncomfortably in his tacky boxers. “It was hardly a sacrifice on my part.” He turned and left without a backward glance.

In his jeep, Stiles opened his laptop. The camera was placed in the far corner of the high ceiling. It caught every inch of the office. He watched Chris swipe his hands across his desk, scattering the papers around the room and sending his crystal whiskey decanter crashing to the hardwood.

Stiles’ lips twisted at the mess of whiskey and broken glass. He stopped the recording, not needing to see any more.

**Author's Note:**

> [me on tumblr](http://marguerite26.tumblr.com/)


End file.
